


A Door Ajar

by Janet_Coleman_Sides



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janet_Coleman_Sides/pseuds/Janet_Coleman_Sides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An increasingly stressed and unhappy Al opens the Imaging Chamber door and finds something on the other side he never quite imagined. As an invisible ghost in the machine, he stumbles upon Sam in an interesting position... and Ziggy may know more than she's telling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Door Ajar

He nearly scared Sam off the mountain when he popped in. Al's heart took up residence in his throat as Sam scrabbled for purchase. Pebbles dislodged by his frantic fingers skittered into gravity's grasp and plummeted, bouncing, what looked like a mile.

"Al, _goddammit_!" Sam panted, shaking, gleaming with sweat and streaked with dust, clinging to the rock face like a newt to a drainpipe. His hair hung in his eyes.

It was _very_ strong language for Sam.

"s--Sam?" Al managed to hiss through his chattering teeth, fearing to upset the kid any more. His perch was really precarious, and Al knew all too well how Sam (sometimes) was about heights. Al had no such aversion, but in this instance he couldn't blame Sam. The kid didn't even have safety gear! He ground his teeth.

Sam said nothing more, reserving his attention and energy to improve his position. When he had regained enough ground to collapse trembling on a ledge the size of a Murphy bed, he turned to glare at Al, hovering midair beside him -- then burst into unexpected laughter, a little hysterical.

"What?" demanded Al, uncertain whether to be stung or simply confused. He opted for a mixture of both as Sam pointed at him, wriggling with humor.

Sam struggled to speak intelligibly amongst his fit of giggles. "You look...like Spock...in gravity boots," and he wheezed into another fit of laughter that looked alarmingly like asphyxiation.

Al glanced down. He was standing in thin air over an impressive drop.

"That's funny?" he said incredulously, as Sam's hilarity finally seemed to be winding down. "What do I get if I walk on water?"

Unfortunately, this set Sam off anew.

Al was getting a headache. He rubbed his temples briefly, then said, raising his voice to be heard, "Sam, I won't let that happen again. We'll find a way I can make sure I'm not gonna scare you in a dangerous moment like that. Calm down, rest a minute and have some water...oh,  _boy_..." as the reference to water refueled Sam's hysteria. Sighing heavily, he boxed the handlink's ears and opened the Chamber door. He fled through to the airlock without another word. Safest that way.

He had Gooshie by the ear moments later. Tina wandered in, eyes flicking between them until the nature of the problem was ascertained -- then the two of them had their heads buried to the neck in Ziggy's local set of guts, apparently communicating on some subverbal level as they worked. Al shook his head, watching as Tina grunted and Gooshie handed her a tiny sonic screwdriver (the one with the blue handle).

He was hungry, and he wanted a smoke. He left the Gushmans busily solving the problem and headed to the public levels to satisfy these appetites.

Speaking of appetites...

He hadn't had a break in a long time. There was one tough girl -- so butch looking he was surprised when she came on to him -- in Maintenance that he chanced upon from time to time, but...well, it wasn't really all that satisfying. He knew practically nothing about her, and this seemed to suit her perfectly. She called him "Admiral" like she thought it was a CB handle. And God knew it wasn't often enough, no matter  _who_ it was.

And it wasn't  _enough_ , either, not nearly. Not even close. He was starting to ache with it. Oh, he dealt with it often enough, just relieved the pressure, really. What he craved...he craved a  _lover_. Someone you wrapped yourself around and didn't want to let go. Someone who wrapped around you and didn't let you let go.

There weren't too many candidates for  _lover_ around Project Quantum Leap, though, and as long as Fate kept saying "Leap!" and Sam kept saying "How high?" the prospects weren't likely to change.

Even teaching Ziggy to talk dirty was only diverting once or twice, though now, of course, no one could get her to stop.

It was all well and good for Sam to preach morals to  _him_. Sam was all high ideals unless he was in love, but he fell in love a lot. Al could only wish he got as much action as he told Sam he did...or, at the very least, as much as Sam himself got. But Al liked making up the stories, enjoyed seeing Sam secretly enjoy them even as he protested. He had to wonder sometimes if Sam believed everything he told him. If he even remembered anything this leap that Al had said to him in the last one -- just a week ago, from up here in the future.

It was just about closing time in the cafeteria, but they'd saved him something. They usually did now -- if he hadn't come to get it before they closed up and left only vending machines around for sustenance, someone would've come looking for him with it. Sometimes, in the beginning, there would be a covered plate waiting for him just outside the IC, but he had always ignored it and eventually whoever it was stopped leaving it there. It took him a few minutes for his inner ear and his eyes to renogotiate his balance with the rest of the world after being in the Chamber, and food was the last thing he could contemplate at moments like that. (On top of that, he suspected it was Sammy-Jo who left them, and he really hated being mothered by her. Dammit, it was just  _weird_.) But he'd found that the walk to go get a meal himself was usually enough to get him sorted out again, and then his appetite would come roaring back.

It was doing this now. He accepted the plate of nondescript starchy stuff from Silent Joe behind the counter with a half-hearted smile, and found a seat at the one table whose chairs were not stacked upside-down on top.

Five minutes later he found himself staring at the empty plate with no clear recollection of eating. He'd needed the food all right, and he felt his head clearing as the glucose fuel began circulating through his body...but just the same, there had been nothing  _satisfying_ about it, no subtleties, no surprises. When was the last time he'd had a really good meal?

For that matter, when was the last time Sam had...?

He disposed of the plate and headed back to his quarters, suddenly longing for a shower and a cigar.

And a change of clothes. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He left a trail of clothes from his door to the bathroom, and stayed in the shower long enough to fill the room with steam as dense as fog. He leaned back against the hard spray, enjoying the feel of the heat permeating his muscles, but thinking longingly of a massage at the same time. He sang a little, to keep himself company; a low amiable tuneless rumble echoing against the steamy tile, until he decided reluctantly that he was as clean as he was gonna get and he was just wasting water now.

He strolled out of the bathroom naked, rubbing the sodden towel over his head, and dipped into his humidor for a Chavelo, patiently and methodically firing it up so that the ash was even, as he stood dripping dry on the rug.

"I think your outfit is  _more_ than complete, Admiral," said Ziggy suddenly, and he jumped about a mile.

"Dammit, Ziggy! You were routed around this room. How the hell are you plugged in here?"

"A girl has to have some secrets," she purred. "Mm, would you mind turning around?"

"Yes, I would!..." he snarled around the cigar clenched in his teeth, as he rummaged briefly in the drawer and came up with a pair of boxers in heavy midnight-blue silk. He donned them swiftly, but he did turn around first, letting Ziggy get in a good ogle. She rewarded him with that husky alto giggle he'd designed as a little joke on Sam. It drove Sam nuts.

Worked on Al, too.

He realized that he was actually enjoying himself for a minute there, standing around in his gorgeous shorts with an A-list cigar between his teeth and letting a computer check out his ass. Ziggy had always tended to treat Al more like a bratty brother than anything else, while coming on to Sam and calling him "father" in the same sentence. Now Al was her only outlet for silicon skulduggery. Apparently Ziggy felt life was a family affair.

But Sam's most disapproving face flickered briefly before Al's mind's eye, and reluctantly he returned to his closet in search of something to wear that did justice to these shorts.

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to...pleasure yourself, Admiral...?"

Al froze with his hand in the air as he reached for the top row of clothes. Then he smoothly reanimated.

"I got two words for you, Ziggy," he breezed, sliding hangers down the rod in search of a shirt. " _Security_ , and  _cameras_."

"Curses...foiled again," pouted Ziggy, somehow conveying the sound of glossy bee-stung lips in fire-engine red.

As he examined first one shirt and then another in swift, measuring succession, a memory teased at him, of standing right here touching this very shirt, the deep emerald one with the subtle pattern of trees and silver Recycle logo buttons.

_Tina lying across his rumpled bed, sleek and satisfied, hair tumbling around her as she laughed over at him. "It's like watching you get dressed for a date. It's so cuuuute..."_

Tina was married to Gooshie. Had been since he'd known her. He didn't like chasing married women, especially in a closed community like the Project practically was. Made him feel like some kind of creepy cult member. The Ziggarians awaiting their prophet Samuel, and/or the millennium, whichever came first. He stifled a laugh, passed on the green and considered his options in black for a moment. Several choices there, but mostly dependent on whether he wanted to wear a vest or not. He kept looking.

\-- Still, he wouldn't have minded remembering what had happened to make her look so gorgeous and exhausted in his bed. He sighed. He knew instinctively that he was better off not remembering all the other ways things had been since the fucking Ascension of Saint Sam...but he wouldn't mind so much if he could just be able to keep some of the good ones. If he didn't write them down, only Ziggy would ever remember.

"May I make a suggestion, Admiral?" Ziggy was breathy now, a little dreamy -- reminiscent of his vision of Tina's contentment.

"You  _may_..." Al waited, pulling at his cigar, which had threatened to go out. The rich smoke flirted sinuously with the air in the room.

"Choose clothes that complement those gorgeous shorts," she pleaded. "Admiral, you look  _scrumptious_ in blue..."

***

...Yeah, he did, didn't he? He inspected his reflection.

The black silk shirt had full sleeves. The silk itself was buttery-soft, deep and glossy and shot through with a light dusting of silver threads. But the  _vest_...

The vest was killer. No way around it. It was silk too, but a different kind, like heavy linen with a warm sheen -- in the deepest richest indigo the human eye could perceive. And it was hand embroidered with silver beads in an abstract, flowing pattern of stylized ocean waves. The amount of detail was incredible. The artist had used beads like halftone dots in a newspaper photograph -- all that was missing from this vest was the sound of the surf.  _Nice_.

The pants were black, loose the way he liked them, a really flattering cut, and his boots were tipped with silver. (He'd hesitated a moment over these, but Ziggy had egged him on.) He smiled at himself, and then memory tickled him again.

_Tina behind him as he preened before the mirror, mischievously wrinkling her nose at him over his shoulder. "You gonna bring him a corsage?" She doubled over in a fit of giggles. Al grinned sidelong at her. Tina got like this, fits of silliness that would arise after she'd had about six or seven orgasms --_  

"Admiral," interrupted Ziggy. "Dr. Gushman wants me to inform you that the....'cloaking device'...is ready for use in the Imaging Chamber at your convenience."

_Which Dr. Gushman?_ he wondered, then absorbed the message.  _Sam_.

***

It was probably sunset Sam-time, noted Al as the door opened. Must be one hell of a view from atop that mountain. He tapped the sequence into the handlink that scrambled his visible display, and stepped out of the airlock.

God,  _what_ a sunset! A glorious riot of colors vied for attention, and the sun was cherry red...more sky than he was used to seeing anymore, most of the time. Sam was surely enjoying it, heights or no heights, but where was he anyhow? He toggled his position around the field generated by Ziggy's lock on Sam. Found him --

WHOA.

Yeah, there was one hell of a view up top  _this_ mountain.

Sam was naked as a jaybird, apparently performing some kind of salute to nature standing there on the ledge. Either that or Sam really got off on beautiful scenery. He was well on the way to getting off, in any case.

Al really, really hoped he was truly invisible. He'd been standing here a little too long if he wasn't.

So he tentatively waved his arm, eyes riveted on Sam's face, watching for a change. He waved both arms, then, wildly, but there wasn't a flicker of recognition.

He stepped back, let his eyes drop from Sam's eyes (wide and glazed with hunger) to his open mouth, watched the motion of his throat as he panted. It was time to turn his back now, or go for a little walk, or something.

But he couldn't make himself leave and his eyes kept moving lower. He released a slow, appreciative breath through his teeth as he went, for Sam -- there was no way around it -- Sam was just so fucking beautiful, and for once he wasn't slouching in embarrassment because he didn't know he was being admired.

Al inhaled sharply through his nose when his eyes got below the waist.

Shouldn't it make him feel -- I dunno -- freaked out, or uncomfortable, watching Sam's big hand stroking along his cock like that?

Well, it didn't. He was fascinated.

He was being all kinds of sleaze standing here and watching like this! It was exactly the kind of thing Sam got on to him about, whenever he was frustrated himself.

_I'd rather I popped in on him when he was makin' it with a woman. I'd like to see him makin' a woman come. I bet he's so good._

And though no one could see him, he blushed furiously as that train of thought jumped the track. He was getting excited, and it was bewildering and frankly scary, but there was no way in hell he was turning his back or going for a little walk.

No, he thought he'd just...ah, hell.

He got the cigar and the handlink into one hand, freeing the other to drop to the finely-chased silver belt buckle peeking out from under the beaded silk points of his vest. Undoing the belt with one hand was a fluid, practiced motion, as were the motions that parted the button and zipper of his pants.

He set his face to stone, his most impassive expression, feeling his cheeks hot with embarrassment, but he didn't stop. He untangled his growing erection from his shorts and held it in his hand, and he watched Sam.

Sam's skin was being lovingly painted by the rich hues of the vaulted sky. Shadow stains of indigo lurked alongside the flat planes of his belly and in the hollows of his collarbones; all the rest of him was drenched in the purest, cleanest peach-orange light Al had ever seen.

He was so beautiful, it was like a pain in Al's chest.

God, look at him! If it was a salute to nature, nature was a fool if it didn't sit up and take notice. The deliberate motions reeked of ritual, of reverence, of respect. Funny how Sam masturbating was more religious in aspect than a hundred Masses Al had seen as a kid...

Of course, none of the Masses Al had seen as a kid had had quite this effect.

His own hand began to move as he watched -- no, as he  _beheld_. The straining of his own flesh nudged him into action without consulting his higher brain, which was just as well, since his higher brain had taken arousal as its cue to go do something else. As usual.

Slowly, without hurrying, he handled his whimpering hungry cock with just enough of a grip to keep pace with Sam, but not enough to try to race him to the finish.

What was Sam thinking about? he could not help but wonder, as he began to tremble, succumbing automatically to the imperative of pleasure too long denied. Since he could not ask, since he could never ask, the possibilities were practically limitless, and they presented themselves one by one to his mind's eye like a harem full of houris.

One by one Al watched as Sam writhed in time to the possibilities. A petite blond, a leggy brunette, a fiery curvaceous redhead, and a number of startling combinations thereof. Big strong hands gentle but sure in their power. Thumbs grazing across a rosy nipple, across a damp straining clit --

Across the hollow of Al's own throat --

And right then, as if in response to the thought, Sam moaned low...

Al squeezed his eyes shut and tipped back his head as he passed the point of no return. He came with astonishing ferocity, the throb of sudden! excruciating! PLEASURE! spreading to his extremities in swift ripples that left him gasping.

Sam's voice in a wordless growl wrenched Al back from the place that pleasure took him. He forced his eyes open in time to see...

Oh, God, the beauty of Sam, like some hungry nature spirit, blazing in a halo of sunset colors as his spine arched, hand quickened, toes curled -- but his eyes, his eyes stayed open, wide and luminously green, staring blindly through Al -- bliss so clearly mirrored there it was like reading Sam's mind to see it. Al saw it clearly, as clearly as though he felt it within himself, how Sam teetered at the brink of coming, so close so close so  _close_ \--

" _Now_ ," whispered Al without quite realizing it, and Sam gasped, his cock leaping in his hand. He cried out as completion was wrenched from him, thick milky drops flying out into space and spattering the rocks at his feet.

Al held perfectly still as Sam swayed on his feet, then sat down heavily on the pile of clothes behind him. Sam's breathing was loud and ragged, and he trembled all over.

Al closed his eyes. Just stood there a minute, trying to regain his balance. Eventually he heard the rustle of Sam putting his dusty clothes back on, and he took advantage of the sound cover to put himself back to rights.

"Al...?"

He snapped to attention, adrenaline shrieking through his languor, heart hammering, but Sam was looking all around him like a blind man, and did not see him. He looked -- ...?! Had he seen that?

In addition to what else he'd seen today, had he seen what he thought he just saw?

Sam, sagging almost invisibly. And sighing.

Disappointed.

Al did an about-face and marched himself to the far wall of the IC. It was dark around him: he was in the mountain, then. He took three deep breaths, put his hey-it's-me face on, and punched the code on the brightly-lit handlink to remove his cloak of invisibility.

"Sam," he called, softly. "Sam, it's me...don't jump or anything!"

Then he stepped out of the mountain and approached Sam, just in time to see him absently scrub at his mouth with the back of his hand...smearing his lips with a thick, shiny bead of cooling father-of-pearl that had clung to his fingers.

If he hadn't come a minute ago, Al would have fired off in his pants. Right there and then. _Oh, Jesus, Sam..._

He did not visibly react.

Sam realized immediately what he had done and furtively wiped it away with his other hand, trying not to look at Al or call attention to what he was doing. But when the tip of Sam's tongue sneaked out along his lips to taste them, unconsciously... Al turned away and started talking, running on automatic.

"Hey, Sam. Nice sunset you got here. You find a place to make camp?"

"I," said Sam, and cleared his throat. "I got a little distracted."

"Yeah?" said Al vaguely, feeling his heart climbing up through his neck to bite his brain. His brain responded by kicking out something reckless. "What by?"

"The sunset."

Al squinted into it.

"Being alive."

Al breathed it in.

"Everything."

Sam was talking into his hands, he could tell. He knew just what Sam's face would look like if he turned around. Eyes averted, brows slightly drawn down... _vulnerable_. Truth-telling vulnerable.

Oh, Jesus, everything was about to change. He knew it. Al felt it happening, knew it for what it was, teetered on the fine edge of his entire life up to this day. He pivoted and stared Sam in the eye, and he felt completely naked in that moment.

But Sam only managed to say "Y -- !" before the leap halo abruptly coalesced and licked him with lightning, and sent him on his merry way.

Al stood in the suddenly bare Chamber, eyes wide with disbelief. How could Sam have leaped! He never even came close to completing the mission Ziggy had projected...!

How  _dare_ \-- whoever was doing this!! His fists clenched and unclenched. _For fucksake, I was talking to the _kid_, the kid was _talking_ to me and I wanted to _hear_ those words that Sam didn't get to say! How _dare_ you, God! Or whoever You are!_

The handlink whispered to him, and he glanced down at it. But he couldn't figure out the message. He felt maddened, like a baited bear. Al threw the handlink down, skipping it at the floor like a flat stone at water. It skittered a few feet and clattered against the featureless wall.

He mashed his thumb against the panel that opened the airlock door and stood trembling inside as it swished down shut again. He waited for the green light to come on, for the outer door to open. Any second now --

"Admiral," whispered Ziggy. Another place she shouldn't be able to talk!

"Ziggy, what the  _fuck_ \--"

"Time is severely limited, Admiral," Ziggy cut across him in a tone of cool authority. "Please pay attention. I'm not going to repeat myself." There was no hint of the tease or the coquette in Ziggy's voice now.

"I'm listening," Al said quietly, eyes flicking uselessly back and forth across the featureless door.

"I apologize for interrupting a personal conversation, Admiral," said Ziggy. "You deserved to hear what Dr. Beckett was going to say."

"How the hell would you know what he was going to say?"

"I run the odds around here," she shot back. "I know a sure bet when I see one."

He didn't answer that.

"It's just a little too soon," she went on. "The two of you have affected the schedule slightly by... jumping the gun. I'll need another three leaps to effect the repairs made necessary by terminating this leap, and then six more to complete the original assignment. Assuming Dr. Beckett is encouraged to pay attention to what he is doing, Admiral. I'm counting on you."

"Nine...leaps?" said Al, feeling as though he'd just been clubbed in the head. "Nine more leaps and Sam comes home?" It did not surprise him to have his own suspicions confirmed: that it was Ziggy and no one else who controlled the leaps. It just  _figured_. Still, he kept ideas like that from the ears of the committee in Sharktown. Better for them to think about God than about HAL from 2001.

He wondered how he was gonna find out what her plans were -- what she was sending Sam to do. So many ripples they'd made in history -- what was Ziggy trying to accomplish? What kind of eccentric whims were Sam a slave to?

He'd think of something. Ziggy had the kind of ego that wouldn't be able to keep a really subtle plan a secret forever. And if she was telling the truth...Sam could be home in less than a year.

"You keep your word, Ziggy," warned Al. "Nine, and then he comes home. You hear me?"

"Nine  _successful_ , and no more scenes like that one, Admiral. I barely managed to leap him out before he messed up everything."

"It's a deal," Al said grimly, and the outer door slid open; he stepped out and stalked off down the hall with his face set to stone. He bypassed the nearest bank of elevators in favor of the one further down. Might as well swing past Maintenance on his way back to bed.

In the elevator, he leaned against the wall and brushed his fingers across his lips, feeling as though he were in the grips of a fever.

_Get you home, Sam. Get you home, and be whatever you want...I'm gonna love you till kingdom come. Till then...I gotta keep this door you opened shut. You'll probably be too busy to go peekin' in keyholes. Nine leaps, Sam..._

_Get you home._

_Kingdom come._


End file.
